Summertime Death

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For my mother.

And for Karolina, Karla and Nick.

Prologue

Östergötland, Sunday, 25 July

In the final room

I’m not going to kill you, my summer angel.

I’m only going to let you be reborn.

You’ll become innocent again. All the dirt of history will vanish, time will deceive itself and everything that was good will reign in alone.

Or else I really will kill you, have killed you, so that love can arise again.

I tried not to kill, but that made rebirth impossible: the substance remained, clinging obstinately to material, and everything shameful vibrated within you and me like a hot black worm.

Pupated evil. Shredded time.

I tried in various ways, feeling my way, but I couldn’t get there.

I scrubbed, washed and cleaned.

You, my summer angels. You saw snow-coloured tentacles, tearing spiders’ legs, and rabbits’ claws.

I watched over you, gathered you in and took you.

I’m there now.

He’s sitting on the sofa.

His gut is open and rippling black snakes are sliding out onto the floor.

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